


Be More Chill Girls' Week 2018

by AlysanneBlackwood



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Blazing Saddles - Freeform, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Girls like Girls like Boys do, Giving the ladies some love, Hayley Kiyoko's music, Seriously this is such a male-centric fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-08 10:56:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14103849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlysanneBlackwood/pseuds/AlysanneBlackwood
Summary: I'm participating in the BMC Girls' Week on Tumblr (@bmcgirlsweek) and I thought I'd post the stories I'm writing here, since the women in this musical need a hell of a lot more love.





	1. Day I--Brooke Lohst

**Author's Note:**

> To my dear guys, gals, and non-binary pals: Please enjoy. Or don't. Whichever you prefer.

Brooke knows.

She knows that their relationship is shit health-wise.  She knows that Chloe’s toxic for her. She knows that if she stands up for herself when Chloe snaps at her something might change.  That there might not be such a freaking power imbalance. That they might have some semblance of a real friendship, or none at all, which would be better than a toxic one.  

But she can’t.  Or more accurately, she won’t.

If there’s one thing she hates, it’s being left out; feeling like she doesn’t belong.  And some crushed self-esteem is nothing compared to finally, finally, _finally_ belonging.  Having friends (even if she’s pretty sure they only tolerate her because Chloe does).  Having _boyfriends_ (so what if they cheat on her?).  She’s safe. The only one who can hurt her now is Chloe.  And one person is better than everyone, however deeply her words cut.

Rationalizations, Brooke thinks bitterly, half-listening to Chloe rant about something Madeline supposedly did, and snapping at her for not paying attention.  Nothing but rationalizations.

_I’m such a fucking coward._


	2. Day II--Jenna Rolan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Partly inspired by Hayley Kiyoko's "Curious."

Jenna knows she shouldn’t get another drink.  She needs to act like nothing’s bothering her; to always be on the ball with some hot new item for Chloe so she won’t drop her quicker than an unsatisfying hookup.  Because fat girls are never safe around royalty like Chloe; one wrong move and it’s back to crying in the bathroom again. 

But right now she just needs the sting of alcohol down her throat because  _ they’re  _ here.  On the couch.  His arm around her shoulder.  Kissing. So fucking  _ perfect. _

They used to be friends (and more) before Madeline stopped calling regularly.  Before she started hanging around Jake and Dustin and all those people. She’s the whole reason Jenna even started trying to be Chloe’s friend; if Madeline was going to drop her for the popular crowd, Jenna was going to follow her.  She’s smarter than people give her credit for. And then Madeline started dating Dustin, without even breaking up with her properly.  _ She probably doesn’t even think it was a thing,  _ Jenna thinks angrily, reaching for another beer.   _ Just an experiment.  Curiosity. Just a girl crush.  Like they all will be. Because no one wants the fat girl, right, everyone? _

Jenna’s stuck.  She knows she’s stuck.  She leaves, she’s fresh meat again.  She stays, it’s nothing but faking excitement and pretending that she doesn’t care about ruining other peoples’ lives.  She leaves, Madeline will never notice her again. She stays, she keeps watching them together (which is inevitable, because high school royalty sticks together like glue), seething with a million different shades of envy and pining and hatred for that pining.  

So yeah.  She’s pretty much fucked.


	3. Day III--Christine Canigula

When people ask her why she does all the theatre she can, she says it’s because she loves it.  And that’s true. But--and Christine hates admitting this to herself--it’s also because she wants to be seen.

No one knew her before freshman year; the only one who seemed to notice her was that tall guy who always stared.  Christine was pretty sure he had a crush on her, but she never went after it. His staring got creepy after a while anyway.  And the only reason people knew her freshman year was because she played Blanche DuBois in the fall production of  _ A Streetcar Named Desire.   _ Suddenly people were stopping her in the hallways; congratulating her.  She rode high as the clouds that day, and she never wanted to come down.

Deep down, Christine knows that she shouldn’t be in theatre for this reason.  That’s not what it’s supposed to be. It’s not about getting attention; it’s about  _ fun,  _ and community.  But she still can’t shake the desire to be seen, and the fear that this is the only people will ever notice or care about her.

So she keeps doing plays, and hopes to the gods that one day, someday, she’ll be seen for some reason outside of her resume (though that doesn’t seem likely).  Really, truly seen.


	4. Day IV--Chloe Valentine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quotes I used are from George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, spoken or thought by Cersei Lannister, who I believe Chloe resembles quite a bit in terms of personality.

Chloe lives by these words:  _ Love is poison.  A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same. _

So she never loves anyone.  Oh, sure, she’s had her hookups, and there was Jake, of course, but that was a power play.  She wanted to rise in the ranks; he was rising, she asked him out. Simple. Honestly, the only thing good about their relationship was the sex, and even that was a fight for control.  Not a time went by when they didn’t leave scratches on each other’s backs. 

There is a voice within her, one that she tries to silence.  One that cries out  _ STOP  _ every time she leaves Brooke hurting or snaps at Jenna.   _ You can’t go on like this forever, everyone’s going to leave you. _

But Chloe also lives by these words:  _ The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy. _

What is the enemy?  Ostracism. Whispers in the hallway.  Cruel notes left in lockers.  All of which Chloe protects hers from--as long as they continue to gaze upon her with the slightest hint of reverence and fear in their eyes.  The moment that look is gone, the moment they are equal, she drops them.

_ You have to stop,  _ the voices in her head say.   _ You know this kind of behavior doesn’t fly outside of high school.  Everyone’s going to hate you. No one will want to work with you. You’ll be dead on the streets by the time you’re thirty.  Or someone will snap and murder you, because face it, you’re Heather Chandler, aren’t you? And you’ll deserve it. _

An ever-growing part of her wants to listen to those voices.  But she pushes them away. She’ll deal with that later (though  _ later  _ approaches with the end of senior year).  For now…  _ I am a lioness.  I will not cringe for them. _


	5. Day V--Group/Pairing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blazing Saddles is amazing. Go watch it.

“Oh my god,” Christine cried.  “Oh my god, this is so freaking funny!”

“Chris, we’re watching the credits.  How is this funny?” Jenna asked, sitting beside her.

“The singer is taking it so  _ seriously.   _ It’s amazing!”

“If you say.”  Jenna shrugged.

Truth be told, Brooke, Chloe, and Jenna weren’t quite sure why Christine had picked  _ Blazing Saddles  _ for their movie night.  It wasn’t that it was known as a bad film, it just wasn’t what they usually watched.  They had been skeptical when they’d heard it was a Western, but Christine had assured them it was one of the funniest films of all time and that Mel Brooks was an incomparable comedic genius, so they agreed.

“Okay,” Chloe said after a few minutes, as the white cowboys were singing ‘Camptown Ladies.’  “This is pretty good.” 

“Just wait,” Christine giggled.  “Just wait.”

On-screen, Bart hit Taggart over the head with a shovel.  The girls all snorted.

“Told you he’s a comedic genius,” Christine said, a bit smugly.

The rest of the film passed without incident, and by the end they were dying of laughter.

_ “Authentic frontier gibberish?”  _ Brooke cackled.   _ “What the hell?” _

“Hey, where the white women at?” Chloe asked, and Jenna collapsed on the floor.

_ “Spaceballs  _ next week?” Christine asked, pointing to each of them.   _ “Spaceballs?  Spaceballs? Spaceballs?”   _ There was a collective nod, and thus a tradition was born, a tradition that continued for many years.  But the events of four teenage girls watching  _ Chinatown  _ is a tale for another day.


	6. Day VI--AU

_ A Hooverville by the Hudson River in New Jersey, 1932 _

“Juliet!  Juliet, get back here!”  Jenna looked up from her laundry.  A little girl, perhaps six or so, was running towards the river, a light-haired woman in a faded dress following her.  Jenna reached out and caught the little girl by the hand, keeping her from the depths of the river. The woman, seemingly her mother, smiled gratefully and took the girl from Jenna.

“Thanks,” she said.  “She can’t swim.”

“I can too!” the little girl protested.

“Not in deep water, you can’t,” said her mother.  She sighed. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It’s no problem,” said Jenna, standing.  She held out her hand. “Jenna Rolan.”

“Brooke Lohst.  This is my daughter Juliet,” she added, taking Jenna’s hand and shaking it.  “She’s a bit of a handful, as you can see.”

“You got anyone else here with you?” Jenna asked, wondering if Brooke was married.  Brooke nodded.

“A friend from before this.  Chloe Valentine. She’s back at the town.  I can take you to meet her, if you like.” She blinked, suddenly understanding Jenna’s questions.  “Oh! No, I’m not married. Juliet’s father’s a louse. He left before we could marry. Riding the rails out there, somewhere.  You?”

“Just me,” Jenna answered, gathering her paltry load of laundry.  “I’ve got a hut to myself. Found it empty.”

“The men leave sometimes,” Brooke explained.  “Looking for jobs, or riding the rails.” She lifted Juliet onto her hip.  “Anyway, you want to meet Chloe? Seems to me that you could use a friend around here.  Some of the men here, they like to take advantage of the lone women.”

“Sure.”  Jenna followed Brooke towards the main ‘avenue’ of the shantytown, which was in reality no more than a dirt road lined on two sides by makeshift huts.  Brooke stopped at one of the huts, opened the door, and walked inside, setting Juliet down. 

“Chloe?  We’ve got company.”

“What?  Oh, hey.”  A tall, dark-haired woman rose from the corner and approached.  “You are…?”

“Jenna Rolan,” Jenna replied.

“Chloe Valentine.  She new, Brooke?”

“No, she saved Juliet from drowning,” Brooke replied.  “She’s living alone. I thought she could use a few friends.”

“She meet Christine yet?” Chloe asked.

“Who’s Christine?” Jenna asked.

“A friend.  She lives down the road with her husband,” Chloe said.  She shook her head. “He’s so anxious, that one. I don’t understand  _ how  _ she married him.  Well, anyway, you want to stay for dinner?  Juliet found a can of beans. It’s not much, but it’s something, and that’s better than last week.”

“Sure,” Jenna replied.  “I just got to put my clothes back home.  I’ll be back in a minute.”

Heading back to her own hut, Jenna was rather pleased.  The country might be in the throes of a depression, but that was no reason to not find friends.  Women, like her, who endured when the men gave up and left. Women who stuck together through thin.  Women who, quite simply, survived with what they had, and what they could make.


	7. Day VII--Free Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Northbury was not a real settlement of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. I invented it for the purpose of this story.

_ The Massachusetts Bay Colony, 1685 _

Strange girls don’t last long, so the saying goes.  Girls who like to walk in the woods and sing in the moonlight are married off and we pray for their early deaths.  Girls who dance in the night may be the wives of the Devil, and they must be saved, or hanged.

It is recorded in the court ledgers of Northbury that in the year of our Lord 1685, in the month of November, four girls were taken from their homes and thrown into the local jail on the charge of practicing malevolent and disturbing witchcraft.  All were not yet twenty years of age, nor wed. Their families were sickened to learn that their daughters may have been seduced by the Devil. But what had to be done had to be done, and it was agreed that they would be tried, for they always  _ had  _ been a little odd.

It was four boys who whispered in their fathers’ eager ears that the girls did afflict them.  They cried out in pain and shrieked of being cut and stabbed with wicked knives until the girls laid their hands on their trembling flesh, whereupon they went limp as dolls.  When one of the girls, a yellow-headed child of fifteen, wrung her hands in the court, a boy paler than the snow clawed at his throat and howled that she strangled him most horribly, and that he had no breath.

No one paid mind to his ability to draw breath between his wails.

The girls were brought before the magistrates, and questioned.

‘Why dost thou hurt these children?’ each one was asked.

‘I do not,’ replied the first, Chloe.  ‘Though I would if I could--they are vile to say we do.’

‘I do not,’ replied the second, Christine.  ‘I have been friends with two of them, and they know that I would not hurt them.’

‘I do not,’ replied the third, Jenna.  ‘I see them hardly at all. I know not why I would hurt them.’

‘I do not,’ replied the fourth, Brooke.  ‘I have not the stomach to harm others in such a way.’

Every question was met with a response of ‘I do not.’  And every answer was met with a scream of terror from one of the boys who sat huddled on a bench, all of whom would suddenly fall to the floor and twist into the most abnormal positions.

The girls were found guilty by the time the sun began to set.  Escorted back to the jail in chains, they conversed in the cart.

‘I would I were a witch indeed,’ said Christine, ‘so that I might pluck out their eyes one by one for what they have done to us.’

‘Say not such things,’ said Jenna.  ‘It will not help us.’

‘I would I were as well,’ said Brooke, quietly.  ‘’Twould be better than to be hanged.’

‘Well, we shall be hanged,’ said Chloe grimly, ‘and we must endure it.’

‘Why would they cry out against us?’ cried Christine suddenly.  ‘I did not lie when I said two were my friends. Why would they turn against me?’

No one had anything to say to that, for none of them had any inkling of a motivation.

When they ascended the platform a week later, on a day when the wind blew bitter, they felt the dreaded rope around their necks.  But none wept. Nor did they pray, to prove their innocence. Instead, they stared--gazed upon their murderers, but never with such ferocity that anyone would shrink from them.

The boys, standing with their fathers, shrank from them anyhow.

So the stools were kicked out from beneath their feet, and they choked to their deaths, their faces first turning red, then a ghastly blue.

At the end of the day, the blue-faced corpses were cut down, and thrown into a grave, which was promptly covered and left unmarked, for it was such an unpleasant episode.  No one wanted or needed to remember it.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism appreciated!


End file.
